


you make my earth quake

by orphan_account



Category: iCarly
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Canon Compliant, F/M, Feels, Freddie-centric, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Kissing, Lovers to Friends, Making Out, NO SMUT KIDS DON'T WORRY, Not Beta Read, Pining, and like not smutty, like it could've happened without people noticing, okay i'm ranting in these tags now, so much of it dude, sorry thanks bye, veeeeery briefly, why are kids here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24141400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Sam, on the other hand, is an avalanche in his abdomen, a crashing storm of lightning and rain and thunder. He learned long ago how to combat her, and they've been fighting for years, pushing and pulling. Maybe that's what both of them need, to push Freddie out into the unknown and to reel Sam back into the safe world."(or, freddie's thoughts following getting with sam, breaking up with her, and loving her in the after.)(song title from earfquake by tyler, the creator)
Relationships: Freddie Benson/Sam Puckett
Comments: 2
Kudos: 46





	you make my earth quake

Sam's always been pretty in her own way, with her wild blonde locks and intense blue stare.

She was pretty when she accidentally rolled her head onto his shoulder in her sleep, her face peaceful and features relaxed for once, but he didn't really like her. She was mean and loud and annoying, nothing like her angelic best friend Carly, whose beauty was amplified by the effort she put into her clothes and her good personality. Carly felt safe to love, because she was sweet and considerate and warm.

She was pretty when she came to apologize for exposing that he'd never kissed anyone, the light spilling in from inside the house onto the fire escape only illuminating one side of her face, leaving the rest in shadow. As he kissed her, tasting meatballs on her lips (and sort of liking it), he realized he would become part of the secrets Sam would keep. He found he didn't mind it.

She was pretty when she was girly, too, but she wasn't _his_ Sam, the one that beat up people who made fun of him and people who accidentally bumped into her and people who had done nothing except say hello (i.e. him). Sure, she had nice legs or whatever, but all Freddie thought of when he saw "Samantha" was the groaning and complaining when her hair was being straightened.

_"Okay, Sam, that's it. I'm tired of your whining whenever I pull a comb through your hair," Carly tells her sternly, standing behind her at the vanity in Carly's room. Freddie chuckles from the bay window, shaking his head as he watches the girls interact before turning his attention back to the bit he's working on for iCarly._

_"It hurts! Why does being girly mean I have to change my hair? It's long and nice," Sam insists._

_"Freddie!" Carly spins and calls._

_"Yeah?"_

_"Come do Sam's hair!"_

_Freddie's eyes go wide. He shakes his head violently, but Carly bats her eyelashes in that special way she has and suddenly he's walking over to Sam._

_"I don't want to do this, but-"_

_"Yeah, yeah, get it over with," Sam interrupts, waving him off._

_Wait._

_Sam's okay with this?_

_"Of course I am. Now, quit thinking out loud and do my hair!" She hands him a pink wooden comb, and Freddie shrugs and gets to work, first brushing the tips of her hair, then going a couple inches higher and detangling it there._

_"Hmm," Carly mutters behind him. "I never thought of brushing it from the bottom to the top."_

_"You're the girl. Shouldn't you know this stuff?" Freddie asks, not turning away from his not-friend's golden halo of hair. It smelled surprisingly nice, like coconuts and the faintest hint of barbeque sauce._

_"My hair's perfect. Just a couple swipes through and you're done," Carly giggles, twisting a strand of it around her finger and studying it._

_He finishes with combing pretty soon, so he called the brunette over and let her take it over from there, moving back to his seat at the window. He doesn't pick up his laptop, though, watching Carly and the reflection of seated Sam sing ABBA songs and discuss cute boys and smile._

_He hopes Sam gets over this girly phase soon._

Sam was also pretty when she started wearing makeup regularly, using foundation and lip gloss and fake lashes every day, spritzing on some sort of vanilla-scented perfume that he inhaled as discreetly as he could while they discussed "shank"s and "shiv"s. He was relieved that she was the same person, just a little more mature. (He pretended he didn't notice how nice her body had become over the years.) She was pretty when she hugged Carly and comforted her when her room burnt up, she was pretty when she smiled through the pain of watching her best friend get a brand-new and expensive room from her loving brother-slash-father figure, she was pretty when she jumped on his body when demonstrating the trampoline by Carly's bed.

And, of course, Sam was pretty when she pulled back from kissing him the second time, insecure and terrified and regretful. She was pretty even when she ran away and clambered over the chain-link fence.

But Freddie's isn't thinking about how Sam's pretty on the surface anymore. (Actually, he's seen Sam's good side since kiss #1, but he's going to conveniently ignore that because he's worried right now and it's been a whole day since he's seen Sam and all he wants to do is figure out how he feels.) He's laying on his bed, legs crossed and fingers interlaced on his stomach, thinking about the years she's bullied and harassed him, the light in her eyes when she located someone who she thinks deserves a beating, and the way she got softer over the years, presumably when she began falling for Freddie.

He thinks of how Carly made him feel, all safe and warm, a little thrill activating in his chest whenever she'd flirtily touch him. She was sly in her own way, tricking him so his affection would stay in her favor. He doesn't really blame her love to be loved, but he does feel a little foolish for playing along for so long. At some point, chasing her became more of a game than something he really wanted.

Sam, on the other hand, is an avalanche in his abdomen, a crashing storm of lightning and rain and thunder. He learned long ago how to combat her, and they've been fighting for years, pushing and pulling.

Maybe that's what both of them need, to push Freddie out into the unknown and to reel Sam back into the safe world.

He ponders on how, although he didn't react to Sam's kiss in the way he now wishes he did, he enjoyed the taste of Sam's cherry lip gloss, the way she pressed herself to him, the explosions set off in his chest as her fingers curled against his biceps. He should have kissed back, wrapped his arms around her slim waist, said "I love you too" without uttering the words at all.

Sure, he doesn’t know what the kiss means. He still doesn't know when he talks to Carly about it, and he doesn't know when they leave for the hospital. But he's hoping he'll find out.

So he stands across from Sam in her room and asks her why she's in the hospital and listens as she explains that she hates him and she likes him and she's got to be crazy for feeling both. She doesn't want to be his stupid girlfriend, she spits out, but the way she turns away from him and hides her face signals informs him that she isn't telling the truth. He wants to about the kiss, she sends a killer glare his way. He tries to comfort her by touching her shoulder, she sharply tells him to take his hand off.

But then he uses the magic words that really should not be considered magic words because they're so unromantic but they're magical in their own sense—"you're not any more mentally unstable than you've been your whole life"—and she's touched.

They shoot iCarly from Troubled Waters, and Carly just _has_ to try and get Sam and Freddie together, so she starts asking the viewers for their opinions.

(Basically, everyone has shared how they feel about Sam and Freddie getting together except for Freddie.)

So he webchats into the show and voices his annoyance.

"Hi. It's me, Freddie. So, uh, a lot of people have been talking about whether Sam and I should, you know, go out with each other, and it's like everyone's wondering if Sam's crazy for wanting to," he starts, glancing up at the blonde, who's looking anywhere except at him. "But nobody asked me how I feel."

"We talked about it," Sam says defensively.

"No, _you_ talked. You told me how _you_ feel while you ate a quesadilla."

She turns to the camera. "The quesadillas here are amazing."

Carly shushes her.

"Anyways, yeah, it's important how Sam feels, but how I feel is important, too."

"Okay, Benson, we get it." He starts moving the Pearpad from his hands back to his tech cart as Sam rants, clearly trying not to cry. "You want to humiliate me on the web in front of millions of people. I don't care. Do it. Get back at me for all the mean things I've s-"

And then he does what he wishes he'd done four nights ago, his hands splayed over her waist, his mouth completely engulfing hers sweetly, a slight smirk on his lips.

She pulls back and glances around at the smiling and applauding patients apprehensively before meeting his eyes. "You really mean that?"

"Mhm," he affirms, still holding her close, smiling down at her. "So I guess we're both insane."

"So now what?" she asks, taking her hands off his arms.

"SEDDIE!" the fan on the videochat screams.

He guesses that's as good of a response as any.

xxx

It's over two weeks later.

Sam began juggling fighting his battles for him and kissing him in the hallways and calling him "baby" and listening to his problems with constantly being at his throat and ripping his head apart with arguments. She told him she started liking him when she saw his ear bleeding next to a fire hydrant and less than five minutes later she yelled at him for being cheap. They got Carly to be their mediator, dragging her to Pini's to calm down their fights and put out their fire, but ended up making her storm off. They went to a pizza shop afterwards, because they were both still hungry, and made out in the pouring rain outside at 10 PM, somewhat unable to kiss because they were grinning so widely and disbelievingly.

He tries to forget that, forget how good of a kisser and how good of a girlfriend she is and focus on what she's done.

She sabotaged his application to get into the summer camp of his dreams. He'd have people just like him there, interested in technology and study-oriented, and he'd spend the summer learning about his passion. She destroyed his chances of that because she was angry, for some stupid petty reason, even before they dated, when she was pining for him obliviously.

He could have gotten into any college he wanted. His future was set. He'd be working in a job he loved, and maybe he'd come home to the woman he loved with a solid salary and a smile on his face.

Everything seems to push down on him in that studio, and he knows Sam's sorry, but he hates that she did it in the first place, and she's pushed too far this time.

Except.

Except he loves her anyways, and he's got all of iCarly as a portfolio to present to college. Besides, Carly keeps brushing his arguments against the blonde away like they're useless, and yeah, that stings, but he knows that at the end of the day, Sam's worth it.

(Right? Isn't she? Isn't defying everything the universe tells him worth it?)

She won't look at him, smiling bashfully when Carly's insisting that Sam is sorry. Both of them visibly twitch when Carly says Sam loves him, but then she affirms it and Freddie can't stay mad because he knows Sam's had a terrible past of loving and not being loved back, so it's not like she'd toss that word around. He only quirks a brow in response to anything they're saying, letting the frown weigh down his face.

(He'll reapply later, explain that his little sister or something got into his application before he sent it.)

They're five feet apart and Carly's standing in the middle. They won't look at each other. They won't smile.

Carly pulls them closer together.

They're two feet apart and Freddie can't help but let a smile creep slowly onto his face as he realizes it's okay, that this is all part of their natural ebb and flow, their push and pull. He knows Sam'll apologize to him later in private, when they're snuggled on his couch or sitting across from each other at the Groovy Smoothie. Sam's face is pulled into a little smile that mirrors his.

Carly rolls her eyes as they stare at each, communicating silently through their smiles, and grabs their heads and pushes them closer together.

They're pressed together now, in the exact same position they're always in when someone's watching them kiss—mouths shut, Freddie hands at Sam's waist, Sam's hands at his shoulders.

And then Gibby sings and it's so weird that they break apart and the trio is laughing slightly at Gibby, but also impressed because he isn't all that terrible.

Freddie has to face his mom when he goes home, and she's got a million different questions that he has to either deflect or answer over dinner, and of course it ends in her sobbing that he's all grown up and telling him to go to his room so she can cry while sanitizing the kitchen in peace.

Give it a week and she gets him kicked out of the train club and a future beating from her favorite cousin and uncle and he still doesn't mind, because she kisses him _good_ after he's kicked out of the train club and treats him to a smoothie after they leave from prison.

He's fine with it, really. He's fine with fighting and making up and kissing in secret and talking for hours (either in person or over webchat). He's fine with screwing up and compensating, by building on this connection they've always had. They're yin and yang. He is the good in her heart, she is the disobedience in his brain.

So he isn't angry at her when they mutually decide to break up, although that elevator ride is the most painful thing he's ever done in his life (and considering he's been hit by a truck, that means a lot). Their voices are quiet and dry but they fill the tiny space, discussing forced connections and insecurities and the way their relationship meant they were finally not fighting as much. He says their entire relationship was "intense", and that's maybe the best way to describe it. They were passion and loud words and hot mouths and bruises, and he can't help but think he can't feel that way for anyone else, ever again.

She says she doesn't know if they "click that way". He agrees with her verbally but in his head he's screaming that they're perfect.

He says it could happen if she got a little more normal. She says it could happen if he got a little more abnormal. They're both right.

He tells her he loves her, finally. She says it back and it's a dream come true.

_We can't do this. We can't say goodbye yet._

He wonders if time in the elevator just stops. As his lips swell up under the constant pressure of her mouth and teeth and his chest tightens with how much he loves her and his hands tease at the exposed skin above her waistband, he considers just staying in the elevator forever. In here, they aren't the dysfunctional couple. They aren't the unlikely pair. They're just Sam and Freddie and Freddie and Sam and so deep in love they choke on it.

"I know you didn't start liking me when I bled out of my ear next to that fire hydrant," he states as he pulls back, and he can't believe he just said something so random but he can't take it back, so he smirks and tries to roll with it. Sam looks up at him, eyes glazed over with adoration, and grins.

"Yeah? What makes you think that, dork?"

He kisses at her collarbone in a way he _knows_ has her seeing stars, challenging her to hold back. (Because they're Sam and Freddie, dammit, and they will always have their push and pull, their own gravitational force.)

"First kiss," she gasps out before kissing him again, heated and fervent, and he can feel the blush on her cheeks as he just barely pulls back.

"Me too," he tells her, and he suddenly knows that it's true despite not knowing why.

It is at 12:01 AM, with the sounds of the "STOP" switch of the elevator being smacked and receding footsteps, that Freddie Benson discovers parting is not sweet sorrow at all.

xxx

They don't fight for a few days. Actually, they don't communicate at all if not required, because they both need space before jumping back into a friendship (if they broke it off on amicable terms, those terms are expected to be applied to their current relationship), so Freddie uses the time away from her in collecting all the things she left in his room.

He takes her shirts out of the back of his closet first, her penny tees and favorite giant sweatshirt that she'd leave at Freddie's place "in case" (which, when she had explained it, Freddie interpreted as "making out too intensely and wrinkling my current shirt" and proceeded to do just that), folding them neatly and placing them in a small cardboard box, knowing she didn't leave much behind. He finds a bag of jerky he reserved for her in his desk alongside the gift card for the Groovy Smoothie she'd bought after he found out she sabotaged his chances to get into tech camp and tosses them both in the box, too, as he waltzes into the bathroom. He reaches into the fake bottom of the middle drawer at the vanity, digging out her mascara and perfume and gum, resisting the urge to sniff at them and pretend she's there with him again, instead placing them carefully with the rest of her items because she'd kill him if he broke them, and then he's taping up the box and starting toward her house before stopping abruptly because he thinks Carly might see him and wouldn't that be awkward? He doubles back and shoves the box to the bottom of his wardrobe and brushes his sweaty palms off his jeans, pretending that he isn't making up excuses to cover up the fact that giving Sam's things back is essentially shutting a door on any future Seddie prospects as he walks over to Carly's and, of course, she's with Sam, and he guesses things are going to be forced back into normalcy as they all walk to the Groovy Smoothie.

(He didn't go to his neighbor seeking his ex. No way. And there's a cute boy there and he acts like he isn't totally jealous at the way Sam's ogling him and relieved when she encourages her best friend to sweep in and take him.)

They've always gravitated towards each other, often to fight, and Freddie finds it strangely easy to slip back into his and Sam's old relationship, bantering and finishing each others' sentences and talking in unison. They plot how to get T-Bo into 8-D, dragging him to the Shay's and recruiting Gibby as his suit designer, training him together on what to say and what not to say (Freddie speaking from how well he knows his mother, Sam speaking from the things she's said that have gotten her kicked out of the Benson apartment). There's a minimal amount of Freddie guts splattered on the floor and they're both so invested in getting this T-Bo thing done that they skip the awkward phase, too, heading straight for being blissfully over it.

(Freddie isn't over it. He's awfully good at acting like he is.)

They don't get time alone together until they're escaping the Shay residence once again, this time to avoid telling Carly her dad's not coming home and see her break down. They run straight to the elevator, stopping only when they're inside.

It's almost exactly like the day they broke up, each sticking to their own corner of the elevator, glancing at each other from time to time. The air seems charged with some feeling Freddie can't understand, and he wants so desperately to ask Sam if she's feeling it too but he can't, they're not together anymore and she's not his, but now her hand is sneaking over to the stop button and jerking the lift to a stop.

"Wha-" he starts to ask, but is quickly cut off by Sam's cherry lips aggressively mashed onto his own, her arms snaking around his neck as she presses her whole body to his, pulling back when he doesn't react, face falling when she sees his shell-shocked expression.

"You were staring all day, and I tho-" she begins, but Freddie decides it's his turn to interrupt and kisses her, fingernails pressing into her hips as she bites his lower lip, sucking at it in a way that he knows is going to bruise it by tomorrow morning, lost in the familiarity of sweet lip gloss on her mouth and savory bacon on her tongue, stopping only when their phones chime in unison from a text from Carly.

_My dad won't be coming home._

"Uh oh," Freddie starts.

"A period at the end," Sam adds, and it is by their soulmate-telepathy (or so Freddie would like to think) that Sam knows to switch on the elevator and Freddie presses the eighth floor button, prepping themselves to cheer up a crying Carly for potentially hours.

They don't talk about what happened in the elevator as they rush into the normally perky teen's place, Freddie grabbing a Peppy-Cola and chocolates from the fridge and Sam rushing up the stairs.

They don't talk about what happened in the elevator when they leave her apartment hours later, instead discussing how to gain access to the military base to they can chat with Colonel Shay on his birthday.

They definitely don't talk about what happened when it happens again, in the iCarly studio minutes before Carly and Gibby are about to arrive, Sam kissing Freddie as he's fiddling with the camera, moving the camera out of his hands so he can wrap his free arms around her, bowing her body to his possessively, letting go of her only when he hears the front door slam downstairs.

(And then again in the empty school parking lot, him pinning her against his car after he tutors her for biology, an empty classroom, her straddling him on the teacher's desk, knocking over globes and pencils as she ravages his mouth, the always-deserted stairs in the Bushwell, Freddie lying on top of Sam on the seventh-floor landing.)

It's only when they're almost caught by Spencer in the Shays' kitchen that Freddie realizes that they can't do this, that it'll give them false delusions of being together and pull at their hearts with every lip-lock. He explains it to Sam, who had launched herself backwards to the fridge when they heard the adult approaching and decided to grab a snack, and she shrugs with her teeth sunk into a cheese stick.

"Does it really hurt you when we kiss?" she asks far too casually.

"Well, we're not really together anymore, so yeah," he tells her.

"Why does that matter?"

She's never been one for commitment, and he knows that, but is she for real? _Why does it matter?_

Did Freddie take their relationship more seriously than she did?

Maybe something from what he's thinking shows up on his face or she can hear his thoughts, but her face suddenly falls.

"I guess I know why it matters. It was important to me that you were my dork, and that other girls knew to steer clear," she corrects herself, and Freddie feels something in the pit of his stomach twist as he notes the past-tense verbs and dismissive tone.

She's over him.

It's time he does the same.

He swallows dryly and changes the subject to a prank she pulled on Miss Briggs that landed her in detention, and as he watches her talk animatedly with her features lit up and hands moving everywhere, he knows that losing his love for her is much easier said than done.

xxx

He decides to go back to Carly, because chasing her has gotten easier and easier over the years, a simple matter of muscle memory.

"Could you still love me?" he blurts out to Carly in the middle of a crowded hallway and he sees her smile a little, knowing she's flattered he's after her again.

It makes him sick. He's never been more thankful for Sam running up and spewing random knowledge until he realizes that Sam probably heard what he asked Carly and she might be angry.

(He's right.)

She hides from Freddie and turns to Gibby, helping him open a restaurant and maintaining some semblance of a friendship with him, likely thinking that Freddie doesn't notice the way she skirts around talking to him.

He notices too much about her.

He also thinks too much of her. Why would she turn to Gibby in the first place if she's already over him? Why would she care who Freddie wants?

For a minute, he considers the possibility of her thinking he used her to get to Carly, but quickly dismisses that thought, knowing that's stupid and Sam is wiser than people give her credit for.

Could Sam be _jealous_?

Freddie shakes his head, trying to clear it of his thoughts, and turns his attention back to the brunette and his feelings for her.

Carly's safe. She's warm and caring and fragile, but she can be boring and manipulative. How else would she have kept Freddie in love with her for all those years?

He knows she's a good kisser. He also knows that comes from practice, from kissing dozens of different boys. She has week-long infatuations, single-date feels that she calls "love".

She throws that word around, too, like a paper airplane sailing on the wind waiting to be caught by pretty much just any attractive guy. She doesn’t know what love really feels like, so her just saying the word is useless.

Sam's reserved with love, and she isn't reserved with very many things. She's seen false promises of love and hoped not to get into them, to avoid feeling things for people because people leave and break her "unbreakable" heart anyways. She builds up walls and squares her shoulders and decks kids in the face because she doesn't want to be weak or fragile, then goes home and tries to forget the pain.

Freddie doesn't like hurting her, but he has, and it's only because he was stupid enough to let his words rush out before overthinking them like he's supposed to. (He's begun to lose the habit of overthinking, and he blames it on Sam's irresponsibility rubbing off on him.) He's wondering how he's going to get her to listen if she's as pissed off as she seems when he hears three sharp taps on the glass sliding door bridging his room and the fire escape.

He goes to answer it, glimpsing Sam and letting a small smile spread across his face as he opens the door.

She knees him in the balls as soon as she steps in, and he doubles over, groaning.

"'Could you still love me?'" she mocks him in an articificially deep voice, and Freddie knows there's self-consciousness hidden behind her anger.

"What do you care?" he whisper-shouts at her anyways, because what _does_ she care? She only wanted him as a kissing buddy. She only needs him as a technical producer.

"What's that supposed to mean? Of course I care! She's-"

"Don't pull the 'she's-my-best-friend-I-have-to-care nonsense on me. I dated her for a bit and you've known me forever. There are no background checks for you to run anymore."

She looks at her feet, pressing her lips together, and he knows that's her guilty/upset/understanding face, so he softens a little before proceeding.

"Look. You don't love me anymore, so why does it matter?" he points out softly, raising his eyebrows and trying to look at her downturned face. She waits for a bit before looking back up, and something in her eyes is the same as at the lock-in, when he was going off on his spiel about knowing it's difficult to confess feelings, right before she-

-nothing. Never mind.

He's trying not to drown in this ocean of memories, but he thinks her bracelet is the same one she was wearing when she came to his Train Club meeting, and her fingers are fiddling with the edge of her sleeve the way they did that day at the pier, and what on _earth_ could she be nervous about right now?

"Who said I didn't love you anymore?" Her voice is cracked and raw and desperate and he takes a few seconds to register her words and now he's confused and concerned and he wants to say something back but she's already racing out of his window, onto his fire escape, down the stairs. He imagines her wiping tears out of her eyes ("it's just the wind") and running because that's what she does.

She talks too much and she's too intense and she's full to the brim with passion and heat and fire and so sometimes she needs to run from the explosions she creates.

He just wishes she didn't run from this particular mess.

xxx

Freddie should be getting mad at Sam. Something dangerous is beginning, and he and his new job are going to be caught in the middle of it, and he's pretty sure that's reason enough to be upset but he just _isn't_.

She barges in on his shift at the Pear Store. The one place he feels he belongs, with all the technology he knows too much about and awkward people who are sort of like him.

And now she is being adamant, stubborn, and persistent. She eats in the store, disobeying one of their rules, and he wants to gloat as he calls his boss over because he'll finally get her kicked out.

Nope.

She gets _hired_.

And so that's infuriating as well, but it doesn't madden him in the way it should, because this is still her element in a way. He knows so much more about the job, but she knows how to trick people into buying the bigger and heavier and expensive-er products. He lives by the book. She thrives by bending its edges.

She deserves this.

(But he doesn't deserve having Sam as a boss. So he gets himself fired by hurling well-deserved insults at his former boss, the one who's the supreme leader of the establishment by now. And he insists that he's keeping the shirt, because he can be petty too, but he's grappled into giving it up. There is no final hurrah, just his ears burning at the tips and hands shaking as he storms out of the establishment, vehemently blaming Sam and hoping she's _happy_ at the place where _he_ belongs.)

He's muttering under his breath angrily, ready to go grab a pretzel at the little stand by the American Eagle, when he hears Sam calling variations of his name and all the nicknames she can think of, listening to her get closer and grab his shoulder and twist him around. He sees the red of her shirt at the bottom of his vision, and instead of focusing on a spot somewhere behind her, he stares at the Pear Store logo before realizing it's right on her chest and he really shouldn't be looking at her like that. He moves his eyes back up, and Sam's got… guilt? anger? written all over face, just staring at him for a few seconds before sighing deeply.

"Look, Freddie, I'm sorry," she starts, suddenly realizing she's still wearing the company shirt and whisking it off. He looks away, pretending he doesn't see that bare strip of her torso as struggles with the layers of her shirts, tapping his foot.

Okay, so she feels guilty. Good. She deserves to.

"Yeah," he responds noncommittally, not knowing what else to say.

"I came in to annoy you, then got hired to annoy you, then got promoted to annoy you."

"And now you're quitting to annoy me?"

"I'm quitting because it's no fun when you're not there."

And against his will, he feels the corners of his mouth lifting up, so he lowers his head and stares at his shoes. He can feel Sam smiling in front of him, too, only looking at her when she punches his arm playfully and letting his face mirror her grin.

"How sweet, Princess Puckett," he prompts.

"Don't push it," she threatens, and the awkwardness and sentimentality dissipates in a rush as they both laugh.

"Do you want me to buy you a pretzel?" he offers, ignoring the way his head screams _she hurt you and you should be angry_. Come to think of it, he's gotten surprisingly good at ignoring and pretending for a boy whose mother has a nursery rhyme about lying leading straight to hell.

"I'm surprised you haven't offered yet," she comments. "You might find that a little difficult, though."

"Wha-"

She holds up his wallet.

"Sam!"

But he isn't mad, not really, and he follows her as she skips over and buys cinnamon pretzel nuggets for the two of them. If anything, he's glad she remembers to purchase some for him and hands back some of his change before starting to snarf down her first cup of the sweet snack.

"What are you gonna do after this?" he asks her, licking the cinnamon off his fingers.

"We could walk around and make fun of the toxic culture that most malls in America follow?" she offers.

"As long as you don't throw anything at the girls in the changing rooms," Freddie says. Unsurprisingly, Sam opens her mouth to fight back, but he just gives her classic _c'mon, buddy_ look that he's pretty sure he could statistically prove work better than Carly's puppy eyes on Sam, and she (again, unsurprisingly) relents, rolling her eyes as she turns away.

"C'mon, Freddo, we've got a lot of places to go, and I don't have all day!"

xxx

Carly's leaving.

Sure, he's happy for her. She finally got her dad back, finally has a father figure who doesn't accidentally squeeze into her jeans and take her everywhere she wants know her and her friends so, so well.

(He's not going to lie, he considers Spencer to be the closest thing to a dad he has, and he's incredibly thankful for him. That being said, your big brother is nothing compared to your actual dad, and he's glad she gets to be with him.)

But he knows her.

No matter how many boys there are in Italy, she'll be bored of them eventually, because the only people she consistently sticks with are Sam, Spencer, and Freddie. The little flings she calls "love" have to get dull eventually, don't they?

(Maybe that's wishful thinking. Maybe Freddie doesn't want change yet, when his life is relatively stable and he's pretty sure Sam's going to get with him again soon.)

He packs up his tech stuff and pretends that Carly leaving doesn't totally break his heart (in a friendly way, of course), and his head is swimming with flashbacks while his hands wind the wires up. He remembers all their cowboy and idiot farm girl bits, their stupid intern spilling lemonade all over his laptop and ending their broadcast, accidentally focusing the camera only on Sam…

"Hi." He turns around. Carly.

"Hey." It takes so much effort to smile, but he does it, face moving through the motion with no feeling. "How goes it?"

"I'm leaving in a few minutes," she tells him, walking closer.

"Yeah, I know." He grips the camera in his hand like a lifeline. "Better not be late or your dad's gonna be wazzed off."

"You know, you don't have to take your tech stuff home tonight."

"Yeah, but I figured I might as well get a headstart," he says dismissively. "Tomorrow I promised Gibby I'd help him do some research on the proper care and feeding of weasels, so I figured the sooner I get all this equipment out of here the sooner I can take it down to-"

Her thumb brushes his wrist and he is effectively cut off, nerve endings going numb in shock, insides filling with dread as he looks at her, confused, and she just moves forward with her lips parted, and it seems this is inevitable because she is still moving forward and he can't say _no_ , she's about to leave for years.

It doesn't stop him from feeling nauseous as she kisses him, one hand on his and the other on his shoulder. He tries to pretend this is Sam, tries to respond with equal power, but her lip gloss tastes of vanilla instead of cherry and her hands aren't gripping his biceps, hanging onto him as she takes away all his inhibitions. She's gentle, persistent, and a good kisser, and he wants to enjoy this _so bad_ , but she isn't Sam.

It seems to take all of eternity for her to move away (although it's probably just two seconds) and they both clear their throats awkwardly as Freddie tries to summon all of his acting ability, to be thirteen and infatuated with Carly Shay again.

"So, I'm going to get my bags and head downstairs." The words tumble out of her mouth in a rush.

"Why don't I help you with those bags?"

"Yeah, that'd be nice!"

She doesn't kiss him again and he's glad because he doesn't want to vomit in her mouth right before she leaves for Italy, and he's still trying to get the memory of her lips off of his as they shuffle into the elevator in a circle and as he comforts a sobbing Gibby and as he bids apartment 8-C farewell, carrying his tech gear back home. He sets it on his desk and turns to flop on his bed and ignore everything he's feeling (or overthink it until his head hurts, who knows) when he notices the folded note placed on his bed.

He unfolds it.

_Look out your window. P.S. Sorry._

He peels aside his curtains and opens the (unlocked) door to the fire escape, stepping out and staring at the road in front of the Bushwell. He's not sure what he's looking for until he sees blonde hair streaming out from underneath a black helmet, streaking across the street for a few seconds before she's gone.

He sighs. The crisp night air seems to suddenly turn frigid as his hand stings with pain, fingernails absently digging into his palm.

He should be mad. He knows it. He knows Carly told her about the kiss, and now she's assuming that his heart is seated right in Carly's hands on that plane when it's really just balancing on her handlebars as she drives farther and farther away from him, going wherever she deems fit.

But all he can do as he leans on the railing is wonder when Sam went from pretty to beautiful, and why she's beautiful even when she's leaving him with only a box of her things at the bottom of his closet and a crumpled note with six words scrawled on it.

Because, of course, Sam's beautiful when she's running away from how she feels.

(When is she not?)

**Author's Note:**

> wOw okay the journey is not over but we are 2/3 the way through!! thanks for sticking with me and reading this trash that i took wayyy too long to write!!


End file.
